


The Power Within

by Auginess



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst I guess, But Hope too, Fix-It, Gerard Keay is not okay, Gerry Delano - Freeform, Gerry deserves better, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mary Keay's A+ Parenting, Michael "Mike" Crew lives, Michael Shelley Lives, Michael Shelley is not okay, Michael deserves better, POV: things are slowly getting better, Past Child Abuse, Resurrected Gerard Keay, Second Chances, Spoilers for The Magnus Archives Season 3, Spoilers for The Magnus Archives Season 4, Tim Stoker Dies, Trans Michael "Mike" Crew, accidental resurrection, canon compliant death, life after the Distortion, post Distortion Michael Shelley
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:27:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29185515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auginess/pseuds/Auginess
Summary: Fix-it fic in which Michael and Gerry get a second chance at living: a story about things getting slowly better, finding people, having hope, and, maybe, saving the world.
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley
Comments: 38
Kudos: 66





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> CW for this chapter: 
> 
> \- Gerry is not sure he wants to be alive again, and, more than once, regrets resurrecting/ wants to be dead again. However, he doesn’t think about ending his life nor attempts suicide.  
> \- Negative self-talk  
> \- References to childhood/ past abuse
> 
> If I’ve missed anything that should have a warning, please let me know!

Being dead hurt, but Gerry had forgotten how overwhelming being alive was.

Death had been a constant pain, a bad migraine, and endless static whisper that made his ears throb. But; life, all the sudden? It wasn’t much better.

Having a body again was… an experience. And he was feeling  _ all _ of it. His heartbeat, the weight of his bones, his skin rubbing against clothes and the cold floor.

He gasped for air, having forgotten how automatic breathing worked. It felt strange, his lungs filling again with the musty air of the archives. 

“What. The. Fuck”. A voice whispered near him. Jon’s? Maybe. Gerry couldn’t remember and he couldn’t see. Not yet, at least. He hoped he would regain his sigh later, once he got used to the brightness of the living world.

It was just…  _ too much _ . He groaned, his voice alien but somehow familiar to his own hear.

“Gerard- Gerry. Are you alright?” A hand touched his shoulder and he hissed. Too warm. The hand was off him immediately, “Sorry, too much?” Gerry would have nodded, but he couldn’t find the strength to move his body.

They stayed like that for a while, Gerry unmoving, the feelings becoming more bearable which each second he spent in his new state, and Jon pacing anxiously around the office.

Eventually, Jon turned off the lights and Gerry sighed with relief and opened his eyes in the dark, that was somehow still very bright. Jon sat back on the edge of his table, contemplating.

“Are you… actually alive?” Gerry huffed a short, breathless laugh he didn’t know he could make.

“I think so” Compulsion pulled the words out of him and it hurt a white kind of pain. He was not ready to talk. Jon seemed to realise it and mumbled an apology.

“So, Uhm, what do we do now? Do we wait and you get back to normal or...?” Jon didn’t finish the sentence, but it wasn’t necessary, the words unsaid floating around them. Would he stay like that forever? Gerry couldn’t tell, but he hoped it wasn’t the case. He would’ve rather stayed dead than be brought back to life just to live in constant pain and overstimulation, with no control over his own body. At least death was a concept he had time to get familiar with.

Jon went back to the anxious pacing and Gerry sighed again.

After what felt like an eternity (but it was hard knowing how time worked outside the book) someone knocked at the door.

“Boss, what are you doing with the lights – IS THAT A CORPSE?”

“No! Yes. Maybe? It’s Gerard Keay”.

“Wasn’t he dead?”

Gerry took that as his cue to cough. The man jumped.

“Holy shit”.

“Yes”

“Care to explain, Jon?” Gerry noted he seemed very angry.

“Remember when I went to the States to learn about the Unknowing?”

“Oh, yes, how could I forget your little Mr Worldwide phase?” Jon sighed at this.

“I found the Hunters. Julia Montauk and Trevor, the vampire killer. They had The Book of the Dead with them, previously belonging to Mary Keay. Gerard was… trapped inside”.

“Who-“

“Gertrude. After he died of cancer”.

“Oh”.

“Yeah. He asked me to burn his page so he could rest in peace and I just did, but… well, you can see it for yourself”.

Gerry wanted to say something, anything. It was so weird being talked about as if he wasn’t there, so invasive hearing how Jon filled a stranger with the story of his death and what came after without him having any say at all about it… but words didn’t want to come out.

The man whistle in awe.

“Are you sure he is alive?” Gerry managed an annoyed noise in response to that. “Oh, okay. I see”. The man turned on the lights again and Gerry hissed again, but it wasn’t that bad now. He blinked a few times, finally making out the Archives.

The man kneeled in front of him and smiled when he met his eyes.

“Hello there. I’m Tim”. He looked back at Jon. “Help me sit him up”.

“I don’t think is a good idea, it hurt him when I touched him”

Tim considered this for a moment before shaking his head.

“Well, we are going to have to touch him anyway since we can’t really leave him in the archives, so we should at least give it a try”. He sounded confident enough that Jon just obeyed him. Gerry felt both pairs of hands grabbing him and pulling him up and he realised with relief that it didn’t hurt anymore. It still felt weird to be touched, but it wasn’t painful. It wasn’t nice either. It was just alien.

They finally sat him up against Gertrude’s- Jon’s desk. Tim was right. It helped. He hadn’t realised how uncomfortable he had been lying on the cold floor until now.

Jon sat down, legs crossed right in front of him and Tim moved closer a chair to sit on.

“Now what?” Jon asked. Tim shrugged.

“I think we are in a classic Princess Bride scenario. If everything goes as planned, he should be able to walk in a few hours” He made a pause. “Please, tell me you have seen the movie”.

“Yes, Tim. I’ve seen the movie. You made me do it, remember? Last year, when you found out that a movie theatre was going to screen it again”.

“Oh”.

_ Oh, _

That was interesting. Gerry had felt a weird vibe since Tim got into the room: the accusation in his voice when he had asked if he was a corpse, how tense he was around Jon and his attempts to overcompensate with poorly executed fake confidence, but he had assumed that the problem was him. A resurrected guy in the office was a tense situation. But he had been wrong. Were they exes? Or just friends who had a big fight?

“Hey, Gerard, I want you to try and talk, okay?” Gerry’s attention snapped back to Tim. He wanted to nod his agreement, but couldn’t. Instead, he tried words.

He managed a dry rasp that almost sounded like a “hi”. Jon sighed, frustrated.

“Can you swallow?” Tim asked “Do it now” Gerry did. Fortunately, it had been one of the earlier body functions he had recovered. He was incredibly thankful to not be drooling all over himself. “Good. Good. I’ll be right back”.

Jon just gave him an apologetic look.

“He won’t tell anyone about you,” He said, conversationally “You are still safe”.

And somehow it hasn’t occurred to him that he might be in trouble, but Jon was right. He had built a reputation for himself, hunting for Leitners and helping Gertrude, and he wasn’t sure how the supernatural world would react to his resurrection. A lot of avatars hated Gertrude and he had been seen too much around her, so he could imagine the kind of welcome some of them would give him.

Great, another thing to worry about. Being alive was fucking exhausting.

Thankfully, Tim came back before he could let himself entertain that train of thought any more. He was holding a pinkish mug in his hands.

“Water”. He explained. “Thought you might be thirsty. Jon, help me move him”. Hands were on him again, positioning him so his neck was bent, and he was facing the ceiling. Tim’s hand grabbed his chin, softly, just barely holding and Gerry actually managed to open his mouth for the water. It was… so much. The heat of Tim’s hand on his face, the cool liquid falling into his mouth, slowly, to give him time to swallow. Gerry felt like he could burst into tears, but he was still grateful for the water.

Tim put the water away when he felt he had enough and he and Jon moved him again, so he was, once more, sitting straight.

“How are we feeling, Gerard?”

“Gerry” He managed to say, and his voice sounded weird to his own ears. So different from the deep, distorted voice he had managed as a book “Please, call me Gerry”.

Tim grinned, obviously satisfied with himself.

“Of course”.

“Thank you”

Tim waved a hand as his only response.

“Gerry, can you lift your arm?” Jon asked. He tried, he really did, but his body just felt totally disconnected from his mind.

“No”.

Jon frowned.

“Okay then, let’s try something different”. He grabbed his wrist and raised his arm until it was completely perpendicular to the floor. “Try to keep it up this time.” Then, he let go.

The arm fell a few centimetres before he was able to stop it, the muscle twitching with effort.

“Great” He looked relieved “So, do you think you could hold yourself on your feet”.

Gerry snorted.

“No fucking way”.

“Let’s try it,” Tim said

“No, wait. I’m going to fall”

“We won’t let you”

Before Gerry had time to protest again, the two men were already on him, wrapping his arms around his body and pulling him up. Gerry felt himself be lifted.

"Wow. You’re taller than I expected” Tim commented. He was roughly his same height than him but, towered over Jon easily.

“You should see me with my platforms” He heard Tim smile.

Jon fell to his knees to position his feet against the floor in the most stable position he could think of. It still felt a bit unnatural to him.

“Okay,” He said when he was satisfied.

“We are letting go, just try to stand on your feet. Don’t worry, we’ll catch you if you fall” Tim said as if that was the single most reassuring thing ever.

Then, they did let go. And Gerry did fall, unable to hold himself. Truth to their word, they caught him before he hit the ground, but it still hurt him, the sudden clash of his body against Tim and Jon.

If Gerry could move, he would have punched a wall out of frustration. He hadn’t felt that powerless since he was a child, and childhood wasn’t a part of his life he liked being reminded of.

“How about you get your arms around our shoulders? Would you be able to hold yourself like that?”.

“Maybe” That seemed more reasonable, at least. And they were going to try it anyway so he might as well agree. It took a bit more of manoeuvring to get him into that position, but eventually, they got there. And it worked. It wasn’t exactly standing, but he was at least supporting part of his own weight. It was exhausting, but relieving at the same time, knowing that he could still use most of his body.

“Perfect” Tim said, “Let’s get you out of the archive now. Try to walk, I’ve got my car outside”.

Gerry wanted to protest, wanted to say that he wasn’t ready to walk or move that much, but Tim didn’t give him the chance, moving forward instead. However, Jon didn’t, and Gerry struggled to keep a precarious equilibrium. Once he realised his mistake he moved forward as well, holding Gerry up one more time.

“Where will we take him?”

“Your place,” Tim said, firmly.

“In your car?”

Tim stopped abruptly, making Gerry stumble forward. Jon’s hand on his shirt was the only thing that prevented him from falling.

“Yes, boss. I will take you both to  _ your  _ house. I’m not having a half-resurrected guy over just because you made a mistake and burned a book with the wrong freaky spider lighter, okay?” Oh. Right. The lighter. “No offense, Gerry”.

“But-“ Jon was obviously uncomfortable with the prospect of hosting him as well.

“Nope, sorry. This is non-negotiable and I won’t buy any of your poor excuses of why you can’t have him over. I know it’s just that you are afraid of me knowing where you live. Still afraid I might murder you?” The mockery in his voice sounded like venom to Gerry’s ears.

“I know you won’t. Elias killed Gertrude, not you. My suspicions were wrong.”  _ Wait, what? _ Gerry’s eyes shot up and he really wanted to ask but a look from Tim shut him up.

“That’s not the cute apology you think it is, Jon”

“You have more space than I do”

Tim took in a deep breath as if to ground himself.

“Listen, boss. I won’t have Gerard at my place not because I don’t have a spare bed for him, but because I can’t afford to have just another sphere of my life filled by your bullshit. You bring the guy back from the dead; you take care of him. Not me. I don’t mind helping  _ him, _ but you won’t make this my problem, clear?” Tim raised his voice so much that Gerard worried for a moment someone would hear them. However, Jon seemed unconcerned so Gerry assumed it must be late enough that the archives were empty.

“Cristal”

“Great. Then I’ll give you a ride”

Gerry wanted to say something,  _ anything _ . He wanted to say that it was fine, that they could leave him in the archives, and he would figure it out like he always did. But, truth to be told, he really didn’t want to be paralyzed and alone in that creepy building. Especially not after learning that Elias had killed Gertrude. So, he just let himself be carried, feeling miserable.

_ Great, Gerry. Less than two hours alive and you are already a burden for everyone around you. Again. _

He felt like he was with his mother again, or with Gertrude. They had always had the ability to make him feel like a problem they had to deal with. Maybe they were right, though. Maybe he had always been a problem, a burden, and his second life was not going to be any different.

He was so caught up in his own thoughts he didn’t even realise when they pushed him into the car.

They made it to Jon’s flat soon after. Tim carried him bridal style up the stairs and inside the house.

“Where do I leave him?”

Jon seemed to consider for a second.

“If you don’t mind waiting ten minutes, I’ll change the sheets and put him to bed”

“I can take the sofa” He offered, although the old leather thing looked way too hard to lie on it comfortably. Jon waved his hand in dismissal.

“I was going to work for a few hours anyway”.

Several moments later, Jon came back from the bedroom and asked Tim to pick him up again. They drop him as carefully as they could on the bed and covered him with the blankets as if he was a child. Then they turned off the lights and closed the door behind them.

When he was left alone, Gerry felt himself relax. He couldn’t remember the last time he slept on a soft bed with clean sheets that weren’t in a hospital room. The cool cotton was soft against his skin, and it felt so different from being dead, wrapped by the book’s pages- So much… softer. It was a nice feeling, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he didn’t deserve it.

He didn’t deserve any of it, to be honest. The soft blankets, the second chance, not even the help from those two men that didn’t know him at all but that had still put on with him, probably just because they had no choice. Gerry couldn’t tell if the final straw was the feeling of unworthiness or the memories of how humiliating had been being manhandled like a doll and talked about as if he wasn’t listening, or maybe how those two things combine reminded him so much to his childhood and his mother, but he burst into tears that were half relief and half distress. With effort, he put a hand against his chest, as if to fill the void of despair that lied inside.

He tried to keep quiet, made as little noise as possible, but he knew that Jon could hear him, that he knew that he was pathetically crying against his pillow, and the thought mortified him.

Thankfully, Jon didn’t come to try to comfort him and Gerry eventually fell asleep.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Please, leave comments and kudos if you want! They make me very happy
> 
> I'm augi-goes-writing on tumblr, come and say hi :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Emotional shock and dissociation (as side effects of leaving the Distortion)

Jon was relieved to see that Gerard was awake and moving when he returned home.

He found him in the kitchen, trying to cook an omelette for dinner and failing. He said he wanted to cook to pay him back for the help, but it was obvious he didn’t have back all his motor skills and his hands were still too shaky to hold anything properly.

It was probably unsafe to let him use a knife or the stove, but Jon didn’t point it out. Partly because he knew Gerard was aware of his own shaking and clumsiness, but mostly because he remembered Michael and, to be honest, a burn could not be worse than that.

He shuddered at the memory. What an awful month it had been.

He remembered Helen’s appearance, just in time to save him from Michael. He had been so conflicted, relieved yes, but so very angry at the thing that was wearing Helen’s face. Then, it had opened the door and Michael Shelley -human- had stumbled out, at the verge of tears. Eventually, he had convinced Helen to let him live and that’s how he had ended with Michael sitting in his living room.

Awful would be a mild way of putting it. He had sat on the couch, his hands hidden under his oversized sweater and eyes locked on the main door. He didn’t move for two days and didn’t speak for even longer. The only thing that had gotten a reaction out of him had been when Jon had placed a warm bowl of cereal and a cup of tea in front of him the second morning. He had reached for it; hands still hidden under the sleeves and had finally eaten something. He even slept for a bit afterwards.

Jon then decided that the best thing he could do was offering him warm food he could eat with a spoon – he felt Michael was simply not ready to look at a knife yet - and as much linden tea as he would drink. He also talked to him, but he did it the way one talked to a house plant: nothing too personal, nothing too complicated, just easily digestible information about the weather or the cute new dog his neighbour had adopted. Michael never answered, but his eyes followed him around and Jon knew he always listened to him. It was strange, he thought, how Michael obviously understood him but decided not to talk. Jon didn't want to pressure him.

It was after hours of googling that he found the thing that finally brought Michael back. He started telling him things they both could see, hear, touch, taste or smell. Things that were _real_. He guessed that after spending years being (in?) the distortion, he would appreciate some help in grasping reality again.

“The wall is white”. He would often say. Michael would always look at whatever he pointed out and Jon could swear he saw him relax minutely each time his words matched reality. “My shirt is black. You are Michael Shelley” Michael always seemed to cringe a bit at that last affirmation, but Jon kept pushing it.

“The soup is warm,” He said, one day over dinner, out of ideas. They were eating a lot of soup lately.

“I like it warm. It is nice”. His voice sounded just like Michael Distortion’s had, but sweeter. Safer. Jon smiled at him, encouragingly.

“You are Michael Shelley”. He said, simply because this looked like the best moment to repeat it. Michael’s face darkened at this.

“No, I am not”.

“Yes, you are. You are Michael Shelley”.

“I wasn’t always Michael”

Unsure of what to do, Jon patted his shoulder, uncomfortable,

“I wanted to _just_ be Michael Shelley”

“You are just Michael Shelley now” He offered “You are free”.

“I’m not sure one can be free of what lives inside your head”. Jon sighed softly. Of course, the distortion would have that effect on someone.

“Yes, you can. It might take some work, but it’s possible”.

“The things I did…”

“Don’t go there”.

“I don’t remember much of it and I can’t make sense of the few things I remember … But the people… I killed, archivist”.

“Jon” He realized then he never truly introduced himself to Michael.

“Jon”.

He sighed. He was right. He had killed. Hell, he had tortured, and there was no way Jon could fix that. But at the same time, it wasn’t him. The problem with the Distortion was that one couldn’t talk with simple terms like “that was not you” or “that was you” because there was no _you_. There was no _was_ nor _that_.

Jon lowered his hands until he was touching Michael’s. He tried to withdraw them with a hiss.

“Careful. They will cut you” He warned.

“Not they won’t. Not anymore”. To demonstrate he pushed the sleeves back, exposing Michaels very human hands.

He looked at them in awe and confusion. And then he burst into tears.

The second week he stayed with him, Michael cried and awful lot. But at least he talked now. That was good.

The day after he saw his hands, Jon bought some new clothing (mostly thick and oversized sweaters and new underwear) and prepared a bath for Michael. He spent three hours inside but when he finally emerged, hands still covered, he looked somehow better.

“I am human”. He said. Not a question.

“Yes”

“I still was a monster”

Jon paused.

“The monster was you” he finally settled for “but you were never the monster”.

That was all it took for Michael Shelley to start accepting the Distortion: a simplified half-truth.

The next big talk they had was obviously about Gertrude.

“You are the new head archivist” Michael stated one day, over lunch. Jon had been tentatively reintroducing sharp objects to Michael, and he was reacting alright, if a bit shaky.

“Yes”. He sometimes did that, asking for reassurance about what it was real or not, so Jon didn’t think much of it. At first.

“So, Gertrude?” _Oh_.

“Dead”

“Good- I mean, I know I shouldn’t –“

“It’s okay” Jon cut in “you have every right to be happy she is dead”

Michael just hummed softly.

“I know. It still doesn’t feel right. To hate her, I mean. Old age?”

“No. Elias murdered her”

Michaels fork hit the ground.

“Elias Bouchard?”

“Yes”

“Why?”

“She wanted to burn down the Institute”.

“I see. Was she planning on evacuating first?” Jon was taken aback by the bitterness in his voice.

“I don’t know” He admitted.

“Yeah, I’m glad she is dead then”.

Jon thought that convincing Basira to regularize Michael’s situation so he didn’t appear as dead anymore would be harder, but all it took was for her to listen to the tapes and meet Michael. Jon could relate, there was something about the tragedy of his story and the way he looked that made him want to help him.

“I will not do this ever again, Jon” She had warned him.

“I highly doubt you’ll need to”

It was a good thing because soon after having his ID again, Michael was able to find a new job at a small library. He said he liked it because he didn’t need to speak much and most of the people who went there were kids and old ladies. He said it felt safe.

Michael had been less than a month living with him when Jon told him he was going to leave to research the Unknowing.

“Be careful” was all he said. “Are you going alone?”

“Yes”. Michael relaxed visibly at that.

“Good”.

“You can stay here if you want. I’m not kicking you out or anything- “

“Thank you”.

“I can tell someone about you too. If you want, of course,” So that someone takes care of you “So that you don’t feel lonely”.

“Someone who works at the Institute?”

Jon considered for a moment. Technically, he could call Georgie, she would take good care of Michael, but he doubted she would even pick up the phone or answer any text he sent her. And she was really his only option outside the Institute.

“Yes”.

“Then no, thank you”.

“Oh. Okay”

A month later, while he was in the States, Michael called him to let him know he had found himself a new place. 

When he finally came back, Michael was the only one waiting for him at the airport, to return the keys.

That had been two weeks ago, and now, he found himself with another forced guest.

The sound of the pan hitting the floor and Gerard cursing from the kitchen brought Jon back from his thoughts. Just as he guessed, he wasn’t ready to cook just yet.

“Gerry? Are you alright?” He called, as he rose from the sofa.

“Yes. It’s just that I tried to lift the pan and – I’m sorry”.

“It’s fine. I guess you don’t have the strength for it yet”. Jon looked at the mess of half-cooked omelette on the floor. At least the pan wasn’t broken.

Gerry rubbed his hands against his face, frustrated, and groaned.

“I’m sorry”

“It’s fine” Gerry’s tattooed hands caught Jon’s attention “You are hurt!”

Gerry looked down at the two shallow cuts on them.

“Yeah. While I peeled the potatoes, the knife just slipped. Sorry”.

“Why- Never mind, I’ll get you something to disinfect the wounds with and band-aids”.

“Thank you”

They stayed in awkward silence while Jon tended to Gerard’s cuts. Jon could feel how much Gerard would prefer to do it himself, but they both knew he wouldn’t manage, just like happened with the food.

Jon sympathised; he really did. If it was him in Gerard’s situation, he would be feeling frustrated and embarrassed at his own lack of mobility. He remembered just how humiliating it had been for him asking Martin to grab or hold things for him after the Prentiss attack when stretching out or holding anything heavy could reopen his wounds.

That was why he tried to act as the situation was normal for him and work as fast as he could on Gerard’s wound. He guessed that was the only thing he could do to make things less awkward for him.

“I’ll cook something else,” He said when Jon finished.

“It’s okay. You don’t _n_ _eed_ to”.

“I know. I just want to make myself useful” He paused “I can make some pasta if you want”. Jon shook his head.

“We’ll just order some takeaway. If you want to feel useful, you can clean the kitchen while I phone the restaurant”.

“Okay”

“Indian?”

“Sure”.

Jon sighed. He wasn’t sure if it was the Archivist in him or just that the displeasure in Gerry’s voice had been obvious, but he decided against Indian. He understood what Gerard was doing and how he was feeling, he really did. He knew what it was to need to depend on other people for basic task and hating every second, the uncomfortableness of it and the worry of bothering the other person that came with it.

Still, it made it so fucking hard to take care of him. And Jon was way too exhausted for that.

“Would you like Chinese food better?” He made sure to use the compulsion this time.

“Whatever you – Yes, please!” Gerry shot him a dirty look. Jon just shrugged and gave him a half-smile. “Don’t do that again” He warned.

“Don’t be so difficult”. He answered, without barely thinking.

The look in Gerard’s face, somewhere between anger and fear, made him realise his mistake. Not even Gertrude had used her powers against him like that.

“I won’t do it again. I promise”.

“You better”. Gerard was still tense.

“I’m sorry. Just… Why didn’t you just tell me you would’ve rather have something other than Indian?”

“Because I thought you wanted Indian. And I don’t want to be a burden”.

“You are not –“

“Sure? Because I am staying at your place and I have no money so I can’t pay you anything back, plus yesterday you had to quite literally carry me to bed. How is that not being a burden?”

Jon let out a slow breath.

“You have been alive for less than twenty-four hours, Gerard. I don’t expect you to pay for anything!” Jon looked at him, contemplating. “Look, you helped back then when we were with the hunters. All you asked in exchange for the information was for me to burn your page and that’s what I did, and you are here because of it. This is not your fault”.

“Then why does it feel like it?”

Jon couldn’t find an answer to that, not because he thought Gerry was right, but rather because he was hit by the sudden realisation that nothing he could say would change his mind. Hell, he was willing to ignore the fact that he had been dead yesterday, what else could he possibly say?

“Yeah, I thought so”. With a sigh, he dropped to his knees and started picking up half-cooked potatoes from the floor. Jon sighed and dialled the restaurant’s number. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! I loved writing Michael Shelley for this chapter... He makes me soft :(
> 
> Take care of yourselves and please leave comments and kudos if you liked it!
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


	3. Chapter 3

The sound of the doorbell woke Gerard up the next day. The ache of his back was the first thing that reminded him that he was alive, free from the book. Then, he remembered everything else. He groaned into the pillow.

Great.

He would’ve stayed in bed a bit longer – there wasn’t really anything worth waking up for, was it? – but he heard Tim’s voice in the living room. Curiosity always got the best (worst) of him and he wished to learn more about the only other person (alongside Jon) who knew he was alive again. 

He was planning on announcing himself, he really was, but he decided to wait a few seconds by the living room door, just to make sure he wasn’t interrupting. It wasn’t eavesdropping. Not at all.

“He is getting better, yesterday he tried to cook. It went quite badly, obviously, but I think it’s good he is trying”.

“Why did you let him cook in the first place? He was dead yesterday!”

“Well, I would rather have him failing at  _ cooking _ than having another guy freaking out on my sofa for a week!”

Gerard didn’t need to see Jon’s face of instant regret to picture it clearly.

“Another?”

“Long story”.

“I’ve got all day”.

Jon sighed heavily. Gerry agreed, there wasn’t really a way of backing out now.

“I’ll tell you, just.. not today, okay?” 

“Then when?”

“I don’t know, Tim. Give me a rest. I just need some time”

Tim made a sound, something between a hoarse laugh and an offended exclamation.

“A  _ rest _ ?  _ Time _ ? Well boss, wouldn’t it be a wonderful world if we could have that? Tell me, did you think about my rest when you followed me home and stalked me or…?”

Jon buried his face in his hands.

“I thought you wanted to kill me. I tried to  _ protect  _ myself!”

“Should I feel better knowing you  _ only _ did it because you BELIEVED I COULD KILL YOU?” 

Gerry flinched at the raised voice as if it was directed at him.

“Please don’t scream, I don’t want the neighbours asking questions”

“Oh, okay,  _ sorry. _ Wouldn’t want to bother them, uh? So could  _ please _ tell me how and why I went from having a friend to being stalked by my boss because he thought I was a murderer?” Tim’s voice was lower now, but it dripped venom.

That explained a  _ lot _ of things about their behaviour two nights ago, actually. He had guessed he was witnessing some sort of broken past relationship, but it still came as a shock that Jon had stalked his co-workers out of fear of getting killed. Maybe it shouldn’t surprise him that much, though. Gertrude was always a bit paranoid, in her own way, and very lonely. He thought it was because she was a difficult woman to be around, but to be fair, it was also a difficult job. Maybe she had behaved just like Jon during her early head archivist days, losing all her friendships and connections along the way; maybe she never had any.

“Well, Tim, I didn’t believe a woman infested by worms could attack us in our office or that we would find Gertrude’s body in the tunnels under the institute or that a door monster would follow us around! I never thought all these things would happen to  _ us _ . We were supposed to study them from a distance” Jon took a few deep breaths, to calm down“I guess I just didn’t know how to process it all”

Tim let himself fall on the sofa.

“We both went through the same thing, you don’t have the right to use it as an excuse for your behaviour, Might work for Martin, but not for me”.

“No” He agreed, “and, for whatever its worth, I’m sorry”.

“It’s not worth much”.

“I’ll try to do better” Pause. “I’d like to trust someone again”.

Tim exhaled a defeated sigh, all anger gone.

“Me too. And you… you are the only one”.

“The only one?”

“The only one I dare to be around, even after all you’ve done. I knew Sasha for years, Jon. I knew her  _ so _ well. I don’t know Martin that much and I barely know Melanie. For all I know, they could’ve been replaced too. I wouldn’t have noticed. But I think you are you.”

“I am”.

“I believe you”. Tim sighed again. “Do better, Jon. Please, make it up to me, because I really don’t want to be alone anymore”. He sounded so pained Gerry flinched. 

“I will”.

“I know”.

“Do you?”

“I mean, you are looking after a resurrected guy and letting him live in your house, so, at least part of the paranoia is gone”

Jon snorted.

“Yeah, sure. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking”.

“Maybe”.

Gerry decided to take that as his hint to enter the living room.

“Morning Jon – Oh, Hi Tim!” He managed to sound surprised. Tim smiled back at him.

“Hi Gerry”

“Tim wanted to check on you and bring you some clothing since mine is too small for you. Of course, I was planning on getting you new clothing, but, well, I thought it might be better to wait until you were… fully recovered?” 

“You don’t need –“ 

“Shh, stop that” Tim cut in “Here, take a look. Black isn’t my colour, but I tried my best. Also bought you a few more things, you know underwear, razors, chocolate because you just resurrected, and I know Jon doesn’t have the decency to keep any at home…”

“I just try to control the amount of candy I eat”

“Thank you” Gerry smiled, ignoring Jon.

“Anytime” Tim winked.

Gerry examined the content of the bag. There were a black pair of skinny jeans that looked too small for him, a pair of grey sweatpants, two black Hawaiian shirts, one with white flowers and the other with rubber ducks, and a couple of shirts with the logo of a University. At the bottom of the bag, he found another pair of washed jeans that looked more likely to fit him, as well as the rest of the things Tim had promised, including an unholy amount of candy bars.

“Do you think it’ll fit?”

“Hm. Most of it, at least. I’ll take a shower after breakfast and try it on. Thank you again”

“Great. Then I think I’ll go, I’ve got a lot of weekend chores to finish up, you know how it is. Gerard, be seeing you! Jon, you better call me, we need to talk”.

“Sure”

Once Tim was gone, Jon turned back to him.

“Tea?”

“Coffee, if you have any”.

“Sure. How are you feeling?”

“Better, I think? Can move normal again, which is something. I’d say I’m only struggling with senses now”.

“Senses?”

“Yeah, like everything I touch feels dulled? Also, my sight, I can’t quite describe it, but is as if it wasn’t all back yet”.

“Like you need glasses?”

“No, I can  _ see _ just fine. It’s just that something is missing like I’m still struggling to catch up on the details”.

“Hmm. Should be back to normal in the next couple of days, I guess. Here”. Jon handed him a cup of black coffee. “Milk?”

“No, thank you”.

“Sure” He added some milk himself and sat across Gerry. “So, tell me, have you learnt anything interesting after spying on us?”

Gerard choked on the coffee. Of course, spying a beholder was always a bad idea. Even Gertrude, who never gave herself to the Eye as much as Jon, always knew when someone was listening. He looked up to see Jon smirking back at him, amused by his reaction. Bastard.

Instead of answering, he straightened up, took a slow sip of his coffee and shrugged. Then, he mirrored Jon’s smirk. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!  
> Tbh I'm not very happy with how this chapter turned out, but I couldn't keep rewriting it or I would never update the fic lol  
> I'll do better next time!
> 
> Thanks for reading <3


	4. Chapter 4

The library was okay. Objectively speaking it was nice, if a bit boring, and it paid a living wage. Michael wasn’t stupid, he knew that with a mysterious three years gap in his life there weren’t many places that would hire him, so, he was grateful for what he had; even if he was overwhelmingly overqualified for the position.

He was happy there, too. Or as happy as he could be these days. He had always loved books and m of the people were very nice to him. Besides, the work wasn’t stressful, and three times a week the library hosted a storytime session for children. Michael  _ loved _ storytime.

Still, it felt weird to spend his days reading tales to children and reorganizing books, knowing what he knew now. Monsters were real and dangerous, the apocalypse could start anytime now, and he was just… reading tales to children? It felt so unimportant and selfish. But Michael wasn’t sure he wanted to get involved with the supernatural again. It was probably the right thing to do, use his knowledge to protect as many people as he could, but he was too scared to do so. He had tried to, while he was the Distortion. He found that archival assistant, Sasha. He remembered her from Artefact Storage, but soon realised she had joined the Archives. He felt the  _ need _ to help her, to protect her from the Archivist and the Eye, a need that was his and not the Spiral’s. So, he had. But, how do you help someone when you are a being of lies? In the end, it didn’t matter. She died, and although he could see through the lies of the Stranger, he couldn’t remember her real face.

And, if he failed at helping one single person while he had the spiral’s powers, what could he possibly do now, as a human?

Besides, he just didn’t want to. His life was not perfect, but way better than whatever he had while he was the Distortion. Now he shared a small apartment with a French language assistant, Louisa. She was kind, short and a good flatmate. The best one he could hope for; she had caught on all his little oddities within a week of living with her, but she had never said anything about them. And there were  _ a lot _ .

He wore gloves every day. Objectively, he knew his hands were human again. He was human again. But he lived in fear of looking down and seeing fingers sharp as a knife, of touching someone’s hand and cutting deep. So, he wore gloves. He had put a curtain over his bedroom door and suggested doing the same with the rest of the apartment’s doors. He tried to make it look like a fashion statement, but he was shaking badly when he asked, and Louisa caught on to that.

“Sure” she had said, smiling. “If it’s important to you”.

Michael could have cried in gratitude.

She never pried or pressure him into telling her anything, but Michael could feel her curiosity. She was very careful, though. Especially since that day he thought he caught a weird reflection in the mirror and had a full-blown panic attack in front of her.

She seemed to assume he had some kind of past trauma and had kindly let him know that she would do whatever he needed to make him more comfortable and that she was willing to listen to him.

It was nice, to have again someone that would take care of him. They became friends shortly after. Michael had a lot of catching up on pop culture and just big events of the last few years to do, but Louisa just assumed he was some kind of nerd who never paid attention to mainstream media and filled him on the details pretty fast. Michael could still see the pity in her eyes when she looked at him. Sure, she liked him, but he knew she saw him as a fragile, broken thing she needed to fix.

Michael still felt grateful to have her, pity and everything. She was his only friend unless he counted Jon and Michael wasn’t sure he  _ wanted _ to count Jon. Sure, he was not Gertrude, but he was another Archivist. Another servant of the Eye that eventually would end up having to make a choice about who and how many people he was willing to sacrifice to either save the world or damn it. And Michael wanted to be as far from him as possible when that happened.

Right now, he didn’t want to think about it. He just wanted to fall into the dullest, safest routine possible. And that routine started with a shower every morning before heading for work. He got dressed in a thin cream shirt and some second-hand jeans. He had always preferred to wear dress trousers to work, but he hadn’t had the time nor the money yet to buy a whole wardrobe to his taste. He would get there, eventually. Until then, jeans were just fine.

He found Louisa in the kitchen, making breakfast.

“Coffee?” She asked, as always.

“No”. He smiled. “I’ll make some tea”.

She nodded and put two pieces of bread in the toaster, one for him and the other for herself. A few minutes later breakfast was ready.

Michael took his white gloves out to eat, under Louisa’s concerned gaze. 

“Michael?”

“Yes”.

“What are the gloves for? If you don’t mind telling me” Her voice was soft as she spoke and so, so careful like she was talking to a scared animal that would run away if she made a loud sound. He could feel the curiosity radiating from her, after weeks of pondering the question to herself.

“I do mind telling you”. He answered, trying to keep his voice sweet and his hands still. He could never tell her, how would he explain the daunting feeling he got each time he looked at his hands, terrified of seeing that his fingers had become just a bit too long, just a bit too sharp.

It must have shown in his face because Louisa sighed.

“Is it that bad?”

“I- yes.” He could be honest about that at least.

“Have you considered therapy, Michael? Don’t take this the wrong way, please, my mother once had –“

“I don’t think it will help” He cut her off. It was true, though. He would never be able, to tell the truth to his therapist, and if he did, they would never believe him. Who would? No, they would just assume he was crazy, that everything – the fourteen fears, the corridors, the Distortion, Gertrude – was just a complex fantasy of an ill mind, and he would never be able of providing evidence without dragging an innocent person to his hell. No one could ever help him.

He finished hastily his toast and stood up, not without offering Louisa a reassuring smile.

“It’s fine. I can live like this”. He had to.

Louisa looked like she was seconds away from insisting again, so Michael decided to not give her the chance.

“Anyways, I’m late to work” He lied, forcing the cheerfulness into his voice. “See you at dinner!”

He left the house in a rush, without even washing his teeth, not wanting to give Louisa the chance to corner him again. Knowing her, Michael didn’t think she would bring the subject up again, which was a good thing. The not-so-good thing was that now he was outside and with nothing to do for the next two hours when he would need to open the library. Michael decided to walk there, just to kill the time; he didn’t feel like going anywhere except work, which showed how boring his new life was.

It was still one hour and a half before the opening time when he reached the library. He got inside and turn on the kettle and the reading light of the service desk. While the water boiled, he navigated the dark aisles of the library, not wanting to turn all the lights on yet, until he got to the fantasy section. His coworker had recommended, quite enthusiastically, Terry Pratchett to him, and he guessed he didn’t have anything better to do than reading right now. He grabbed the book and returned to his desk, pouring himself some tea on his way there.

He had barely finished the first chapter when the sharp smell of gas startled him. No, not gas, he thought, trying to fight his own rising panic. Something different, cleaner. Ozone?

He had barely come to that realization when the doors of the library opened. A short, dark-haired man, came in. Michael stood up.

“Sorry, sir. We are closed”.

“I know”. He said as he walked towards his desk. “I hoped no one would be here”. Michael frowned at this. Who the fuck did he think he was?

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave”. He said, instead. The man laughed, coming closer.

“Or else?”

“Excuse me?”

“Let’s say I don’t want to leave, what would you do?”

The man finally reached him, but Michael struggled to make out the details of his face. Almost as a second thought, he flicked the switch underneath the table, the one that turned on the lights of the room. Michael swallowed a gasp when he saw the man’s face and let himself fall against his chair. A scar covered the left side of his face and his left eye was completely white.

A man with a Lichtenberg figure scar had featured quite a few statements, he had even taken a few, personally. Despite this, he couldn’t bring himself to remember his name. He didn’t need to, though, to know he was in danger.

The man smiled at him, not unkindly.

“My face tends to have that effect, don’t worry. No offence taken”.

“What- No. That’s not-“

The man arched an eyebrow.

“Sure”.

“I’ve read about you!” He regretted almost instantly the confession. Godamnit. Why did he felt that urge to make sure he didn’t wound the feelings of a man who was probably going to throw him into an infinite sky in the next few minutes?

“Come again?”

“You – you appear in some of the statements”. It was probably too late to lie, anyways.

“So, you are one of those Magnus freaks, uh?”

“Not anymore. Now I work here”.

The man frowned.

“Not possible”.

“Whatever”. He didn’t feel like arguing. “I just can’t seem to remember your name, though”. He managed to bit off the apology that threatened to leave his mouth.

“Michael Crew. You can call me Mike”.

“Nice to meet you” He was going to offer him his hand but drop it mid-air. Better not to risk it. Crew smiled at him.

“Yours?”

“Michael Shelley”.

“Okay, Michael, you said you worked here, right?”

“Yes?”

“Good, then I’m going to need you to find a book for me” Michael eyed him cautiously and Mike smiled again at him “please?”

“Which one?”

“ _ Through the looking glass: an interactive story _ ”

Michael looked at him in surprise. That was way tamer than what he expected. He logged onto the computer.

“Okay, Alice through –“ He started reading out loud the words as he typed them.

“No, not Alice”. Mike cut him off. “Just Through. And remember the  _ an interactive story _ ”

Michael nodded and obeyed him. Why was he doing all this again? Right, to avoid angering a Vast avatar and hopefully making it alive.

“Sorry, but we don’t have any book with that name” He smiled apologetically “I can check if any other library has it, though”.

“No. It’s here”. Michael frowned.

“It is not, I just checked”.

“It’s not the kind of book you add to the catalogue. Do you have a donation box?” Michael nodded. “Check it”.

He knew he shouldn’t, he had the gut feeling he should just kick Mike out, but he was too afraid. Well, afraid was not the precise word. He somehow didn’t feel like Mike was going to kill him, he would have done that already – he didn’t truly need him to fetch a book for him. But he felt in danger, nonetheless. He rose from his chair, towering at almost two heads over Mike, before going to the employee area to fetch the box.

He grabbed the donation box but couldn’t even take it to the front desk before he  _ felt  _ it. He let the box fall from his hands into the floor, with a loud crash. He barely registered Mike jumping into the employee’s area, eyes locked on a book that fell from the box, standing out from the mess he had made.

The cover was a big mirror that Michael was sure that reflected the celling and the title read in swirly letters  _ Through the looking glass: an interactive story _ . It was a pretty book and it would have been a normal one if he couldn’t feel it calling him. Michael’s body shook violently with the need to run away and the need to open and read the book as if his body and mind couldn’t decide what they wanted to do. Michael, however, was pretty sure what he wanted: he wanted to be as far from that damned  _ familiar, _ thing as he could. Against his will, he took a step forward, extending his arms. Somehow it still felt like his decision, maybe he  _ wanted _ it, maybe…

He was going to grab the book when he felt himself fall, air leaving his lungs.

He didn’t know for how long he was falling, or why he somehow still felt the ground against his feet, his knees once they gave up. He didn’t care. All that flooded his mind was the siren song of the book and the all-consuming fear that came with it. Eventually, the fall ended, and he found himself against the library floor as if he had never moved at all, gasping for air.

When he opened his eyes again, the book had been bounded with some heavy looking chains and stabbed at least a dozen times. Mike, knife still in his hand, was shaking.

When he noticed that Michael had returned to his senses, he let himself fall to his knees by his side. Michael could distantly hear him, but he was too gone to respond. He retrieved a tissue from a pocket in his jacket and offered it to him. When Michael didn’t take it, he brought it to his face, gently drying the tears that flowed freely. Eventually, Michael was able to pull away. He didn’t feel like letting a stranger touch his face. Mike’s hand fell immediately.

“I’m sorry. I should have never asked you to get the book”.

“It’s fine” It took him a while to be able to speak in between sobs “It was bound to catch up with me at some point”.

Mike’s face was unreadable.

“No. Not this time” He cupped his face to make him look at him “I’m going to burn that fucking monstrosity”. He paused. “Come with me?”

Michael wanted to say no, wanted to stay as far as he could from the fucked-up book and the man who had forced him to get it, but he wanted even less to be alone, so he nodded. Mike stood up and offered his hand to Michael, helping him onto his feet effortlessly despite his much smaller frame.

It helped, watching it burn. Once it was reduced to ashes, Michael was able to stop crying. He was fine. He was safe. He was lucky Mike had come that morning to the library before he or anyone else had the chance to look through the donation box, although he suspected that the book was there for him. Waiting for him.

He pushed those thoughts aside.

“Thank you”.

“Don’t mention it. It’s what I do”.

“When you are not throwing people into the sky, I guess”. He couldn’t catch his tongue before he spoke the words. Fortunately, Mike didn’t seem offended.

“A man’s gotta eat” He shrugged with an easy smile. “Talking about which, let me buy you breakfast, you need to eat something after this”.

“No. I need to open the library in ten minutes”

“You also need to relax after what just happened, I-“

“No”. He repeated, more firmly this time. “I’ve got work to do”.

Mike let his arms drop in defeat.

“Sure. Don’t let me interfere with your work ethics” He said, looking for something in his backpack. It took him a few seconds but eventually managed to take it out. It was a bright red apple. He threw it at Michael “Do eat something, though”.

“No, you keep it. You’ll need to eat too”.

Mike shrugged.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll find some poor soul on my way home” And with a wink, he fell into the sky and disappeared without even saying goodbye.

Michael sighed and bit the apple, suddenly aware of just how hungry he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just love the Michaels together, my sweet boys.
> 
> If you enjoyed this chapter, please consider leaving kudos and comments!!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

Michael was shaky the whole day. He needed three bathroom breaks to cry and came out with red swollen eyes each time. Fortunately, nobody commented on it, although Agatha, his coworker, did pat his shoulder in sympathy and made him tea.

Why did everyone assume that tea would fix his problems? Jon, Louisa and now Agatha acted as if a warm cup in his hands could make the pain, fear and memories go away. To be fair, it normally worked; the heat from the coup was physical enough between his hands to anchor him in reality. 

The problem was that reality was looking quite grim that day.

All Michael wanted to do was to finish his shift, go back home and drown in his bed, under the safety of his blanket. Except, he wasn’t sure he should even return home. Would it follow him? Michael was convinced it had been doing so for a while now, probably since it freed him. But now it had made a move, which probably meant it was ready to hunt him down and get him back.

He shouldn’t let that happen near Louisa. She would never recover. But it wasn’t as if he had any other place to go.

The pencil in his hand broke with a sharp sound. Fuck. He heard Agatha approaching him.

“Michael?”

“Yes?”

“Would you like to go home earlier today? You can leave now if you need some time for yourself”. Michael glanced at the clock again. It was almost lunch break.

“I… don’t know” He admitted. He didn’t want to be there but couldn’t go home. He hated the idea of being alone right now, but didn’t want to endanger anyone else —

“Why don’t you leave for your lunch break now and decide if you need the rest of the day off or not with the stomach full?”

To be honest, Michael wasn’t sure he would be able to eat anything without throwing up, but he nodded anyway, just because he couldn’t stand the pity in her eyes a second longer.

“Thank you” He forced a smile and rushed out through the main door.

He was only mildly surprised when he saw Mike waiting there, lying against a wall. He had changed his clothing into something more casual, which made sense since he wasn’t breaking into any public library anymore and had tied his hair up. He smiled at him when he saw him.

“You again! I’m going to start thinking you are following me around” He exclaimed despite how obvious it was that he was waiting for him. It was insufferably cheesy and Michael smiled despite himself. 

“What do you want?” He made himself sound annoyed.

“I want to buy you some lunch. As an apology”.

“I’m not hungry”.

Mike winced in sympathy.

“I figure. Look, I’m sorry. I was not expecting it to have such a violent reaction against you – It has never happened before” He got closer, tentatively, the confidence he had shown earlier long gone.

“Oh, so you usually tackle innocent librarians and force them to fetch evil books for you?”

“I hardly for-“ He realized Michael didn’t mean those words “Leitners normally need to be read before causing damage”. He explained, “Or at least, they choose to wait to be read, I don’t know why it reacted like that”.

Michael seized at the man before him. He looked  _ nice _ enough, genuinely concerned, but he was also a dangerous avatar. Even if he wasn’t planning on hurting him, he represented everything was trying to stay away. And still, he couldn’t find it in himself to leave.

“So, lunch?” Mike studied his face in silence as if he could read his internal struggle in his face “Please?”

Michael looked at him from head to toe again and realized, much to his own surprise, that he wanted to say yes. He wanted to feel what was like going out with someone  _ again _ . Act like he could have a friend.

“How will I know you won’t kill me?”

“I could have done that already” He pointed out.

“You can always change your mind”.

“Hmm. Are you _that_ boring?”

“Yes”. Michael deadpanned. Mike huffed out a laugh even if it wasn’t a joke. Not really. He had never been very interesting.

“I’ll do the talking, then” A pause. “Unless you want me to leave. Say the word and I won’t bother you again, I promise”. 

“Wouldn’t feed me to the vast in revenge”.

“No”. He said it with such candour that Michael had no other option but to believe him. Not that was letting Michael know. “So, lunch?” It sounded like his last chance. Hell, it probably was his last chance. If he said no, he wouldn’t see Michael Crew again, which was what he  _ should _ want, but deep down he wasn’t that sure. He tried to tell himself it was just for research purposes, to learn more about the fears, but that was worse. Research purposes sounded too close to what the Institute did. It was better to just admit the truth: He just wanted to spend a few more hours with Mike.

It wasn’t that he liked him, no. Too much of a rough start for that, although he had to admit he was so charismatic that he made disliking him a very hard job. It was just a mixture of loneliness, curiosity, and gratitude after he saved him from the book.

“Italian?”

Mike smiled.

“Sure. I know just the place. It’s Simon’s favourite and he is  _ very _ particular about Italian food so you can bet it’s good”.

Lunch was nice. The nicest experience Michael could recall since coming back from the distortion. Mike was charming to be around, interesting, funny, and polite enough to appear invested in whatever dumb story Michael was telling at the moment.

To be honest, when he dropped him back at the library, Michael was sure he would never see him again. He couldn’t think of a single reason a guy like him would want to waste any more time with him.

He was wrong.

Mike’s presence became a constant in his life, shortly after. He would often pick him up for lunch or keep him company while he was running errands. He once suggested he could take him flying, but Michael refused. He was starting to trust him but couldn’t let himself forget that he killed people for a living after all.

Still, their friendship? (Michael really wanted to call it a friendship) progressed. They didn’t have much in common, but, somehow, they understood each other. Michael liked to think they were just kindred souls, but he suspected that the shared experiences with the Spiral were at least partly responsibly for it. Mike had told him his story after getting drunk with wine one night over dinner. He had managed not to cry.

“It feels nice to tell someone out of free volition” He had said, and Michael cursed Jon under his breath but didn’t say anything about it.

“Thank you for telling me, then”.

“Thank you for listening”.

“I would have chosen the Vast, too” Michael had said after a long pause “If I had been given the choice”. It was kind of true, after all. If he had never joined the Instituted and had been forced to choose an entity… The Vast looked like the lesser evil, or, at least, the prettiest one.

“Whenever you are ready, I’ll show you my stars” Was Mike’s only answer. Michael was grateful he didn’t mention that it wasn’t too late for him to join the Vast, even though he knew he wanted to.

He was also grateful that he didn’t comment on the  _ if I had been given the chance _ bit. Mike had assumed correctly that another entity had claimed him while he worked at the institute, and Michael was sure he suspected it had been the Spiral, but he never asked. He was not one to push boundaries and seemed confident in the fact that he would someday tell him. He wasn’t wrong.

It was a hot night, the hottest one in months, and they were both lying in Mike’s living room. Mike had been very insistent on getting Michael to play videogames and, although he wasn’t good with anything that required finger dexterity, he was willing to give it a try.

“I would have already dragged us to my Vast if the PS4 worked there”. Mike grunted while taking off his shirt. Michael smiled; he wouldn’t have. Not without Michael’s explicit permission at least, and he was getting nowhere close to that fucked up infinite void Mike called  _ his _ vast.

“What a pity”.

“It’s cooler there”.

“I have no doubts” He turned his face to look at him and the defeat music let him know the monster had killed him again. “Fuck”.

“You need to pay more attention”. His friend chastised him without any real bite to it. Michael didn’t bother answering.

“I hate this game”. He threw the controller back to Mike and turned around to fully face him.

It was the first time he was seeing Mike’s scars, other than the one in his face and neck, and before he could help himself, his eyes drifted towards his torso and the Lichtenberg figure scar that marked his left side, and then higher, where his mastectomy scars were. Then back to Mike’s blue eyes. He was smiling, kind as ever.

“Did it hurt?”

“The lightning or the surgery?”

“The lighting one. Or the other one. Or neither. Whatever you are comfortable with” He hid his face in his hands. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked”.

Mike just laughed.

“I don’t think I can describe the pain of a lightning strike, Michael. But it did hurt, a lot. Like burning, but worse, because it goes through you”. He made an ambiguous move with his hand “I don’t think you have experienced anything like this, and I honestly hope you’ll never have to”.

Michael could think of something that hurt just like what Mike had described, but somehow worse: the pain of stop being and becoming one with deception.

“I think… I think I already had” He almost whispered, in a burst of bravery. All the sudden, Mike’s full attention was on him with an intensity that reminded him of the first time they met, but his eyes remained soft. There was no judging, no pressure there. Just worry. “Remember I told you I used to work for the Institute?”

“Yes”.

“And how you said it was impossible that I didn’t work there anymore?”

“Yes. I didn’t know you guys could quit”. His words were carefully chosen to not give away he had made a few assumptions already. Michael knew.

“We can’t… I was” He tried again. “There was this ritual….” That didn’t feel right either “Another entity…” Nope. He sighed, frustrated. That wouldn’t work. He had to tell the story from the beginning for it to be understandable. He needed to let Mike know about his innocence, how he had loved her and trusted her and how she betrayed and killed him and only then the Distortion would make sense.

Mike shuffled closer and reached for his hands, warm small fingers sliding underneath the white gloves to caress his skin. Michael looked at him, taking in his quiet attention and encouraging expression. Trusting was harder since she betrayed him, but Mike had told him his story, showed him his scars. It wasn’t the same. He wasn’t like her. Right? In all honestly, he couldn’t tell. Gertrude had seemed very sincere as well, very trustworthy.

But Michael wanted to trust Mike, he needed it even. He took a deep breath and forced the words out of his mouth, hoping that Mike would be careful with them. Hoping that he would give him a new reason to trust. 

“When I worked at the Magnus Institute, I was an assistant to Gertrude Robinson, the then archivist. I don’t think I can explain to you who she was and what she meant to me, but I need you to believe me when I said I trusted her with my life …” He began.

And, word by word, Michael Shelley was able to force out, for the first time, the real story of who he was and what he became, the betrayal that started it and the damage that was done. Mike, bless his soul, didn’t let his hand go until he was too tired to cry. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe in Michael - Mike's friendship supremacy!
> 
> Chapter 6 it's almost finished and it's going to be Gerry again, don't worry I haven't forgotten about him
> 
> I'm augi-goes-writing on tumblr, come and say hi :)
> 
> Thank you for reading!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: references to past child abuse

Although Gerard was almost completely recovered from his death, he still sometimes forgot that he had a body again, disconnecting himself from his physicality until something (normally Jon shaking him) startled him back to his senses. Being touched was still weird. He didn’t hate it but couldn’t say that his undead body reacted well to the warmth of other people. Fortunately, Jon didn’t touch him much, so he only had to deal with Tim’s hugs when he came to visit.

To be honest, it didn’t surprise him terribly that being touched was one of the things his body struggled more to process, after all, he didn’t remember that many kind touches before his death.

As a matter of fact, he could only remember being hugged by his mother, and it never had any real warmth to it. It always felt like a reward or an apology, something he got when he went to ridiculous lengths to please her or when she hurt him a bit too badly and they both knew his scars wouldn’t heal. The only other friendly touch he remembered was Gertrude holding his hand while he died. He was still thankful for that, enough that he could forgive being bound to the fucking book. She had abandoned her mission for one day just so he didn’t die alone and that was the single kinder thing anyone had ever done for him. 

Maybe that was why his body reacted better to pain than to softer touches. When he had cut himself cooking hadn’t been nearly as overwhelming as a friendly hug, ironic as it might be. It was still worrying though, how his body was reacting in such an extreme way to something fairly harmless, even if he wasn’t used to that. Was it a side effect of his resurrection? He couldn’t know. He didn’t share those thoughts with Jon though, even if he knew he was concerned too by how he jumped every time he lied a friendly hand on him.

He was fine, though. He could deal with it. He had it worse. What he was really struggling with was being so dependent on Jon. Living in his house, eating his food, using his and Tim’s clothing… He knew those things were never free. His mother had taught him that lesson from a very young age. But Jon hadn’t demanded anything from him, not yet, and it was unnerving, not knowing when or how he would demand his payment. Until then, he tried to make himself useful, cooking and cleaning and trying to take up as little space as he could, something he was quite good at.

He was doing the dishes after lunch when Jon approached him. He didn’t need his Sight to know he wanted something, his awkwardness was way too telling.

“Gerry?”

“Yes?” He braced himself even though he didn’t know what for. Jon had been talking to a few avatars, researching the Unknowing, probably he wanted to send him to check on a few of the more dangerous ones and ask questions on his behalf. He could do that.

“Tim is coming for an uh talk? We need to sort out a few things, I’m sure you’ve noticed” He winced as he said it “I was wondering if you could get out for the evening? So, we have some privacy”.

“Oh, Uhm, sure. Is there anything, in particular, you need me to do?”

“I’m not- No. You can go for a walk or… Or I’ll give you some money so you can buy yourself clothing your size or whatever you want”

Gerry wanted to protest, explain to him that he really didn’t want to owe him anything more, but Jon waved off his concerns and opened his wallet.

“Here, I’ve been meaning to do this for a while, anyways” He pushed the money into Gerard’s hands. “I think that we’ll be done by dinner, so you can come back then”.

“Uh. Sure”. He said because he really didn’t know how to answer that “I’ll take a shower and get out”. Jon nodded his agreement.

He made a quick job of getting himself ready, mostly because it was easy these days. Jon had been right when he had said he needed to get himself new clothes, his closet was entirely made of five pieces out of which not all of them fit him right. Tim liked his clothing tight and was slimmer than him. He didn’t have any makeup either, which also saved a lot of him time.

He was almost ready to leave when Tim knocked on the door. He heard him greeting Jon cheerfully and made his way to the living room.

“Gerry, my man! You are rocking that shirt” He grinned. Gerard looked down at the rubber duck pattern and rolled his eyes. Tim got closer and Gerry accepted his hug without struggling, suppressing a shudder as he embraced him. He was never getting used to that. He did however end the hug prematurely, pushing Tim away almost violently when looking at his back he saw a black, pulsating root climbing towards his neck. He blinked and it was gone.

“Gerry?” There was concern in his voice.

“I’m fine” he muttered “Just thought I’ve seen something in your back” Tim’s hand shot up immediately trying to feel his spine, searching for something. “No, it’s not there anymore. I must have imagined it”.

“What was it?” Jon asked.

“Not sure, something black. Looked like a root? Only saw it for a second”.

Jon hummed, softly.

“I can’t see anything, not even if I try to See” Jon examined Gerry’s face “Probably just your imagination, but if it happens again, let me know. It’s only been two weeks since you left the book, it might not be too late to suffer some side effects”.

Gerry closed his eyes, begging silently to Someone that it wasn’t the case. He had had enough of the shitshow that resurrecting had been, he didn’t want to deal with new damned issues now that he was starting to feel a bit more like himself again.

“Anyways, Gerry, weren’t you leaving?” Gerard looked back at Jon and couldn’t stop the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. Being subtle was not Jon’s forte.

“Yes! Goodbye Tim” He forced a reassuring smile out of his lips and left, a heavy dread he couldn’t explain settling on his chest.

It was the first time since he resurrected Gerard had stepped outside, and he realized, much to his own surprised, that it had been the first time in almost three years that he had felt fresh air and sunlight on his skin. He found himself treasuring the feeling, truly thankful for the first time of being alive again. Gerard fought to keep this feeling deep inside, trying hard not to let everything else shadow it.

Gerry found himself returning to the charity shop near his house he used to go to when he lived with Mary. It had been a long time since the last time he had been there, but it used to have a fairly decent section of clothing his style. It was worth giving it a try.

He was right. After a few hours of looking around the shop, he found a bunch of cheap band tees, a black plain turtleneck, a pair of black boots and some jeans his size. He eyed a leather jacket, but much to his disappointment, he couldn’t afford it. He went to the cashier to pay for all and the old man’s eye lighted up with recognition.

“Keay?” He asked, awed. Gerry smiled awkwardly. He couldn’t remember the man’s name, but he wasn’t surprised he recognized him. After all, he had been coming to his shop for years.

“Yeah” He answered.

“I never thought I’ll see you again after police came after you, you know. I’m glad they found you innocent”. Gerry drew in a sharp breath.

“Yeah me too”. His voice sounded strained even to his own hears.

“Of course.” He didn’t believe him “And what’s bringing you back to my shop”.

“I needed a closet change”

“I see. It’s just so weird to see you again. Where have you been?”

“United States” It was only a half-lie, after all.

“Oh! Why did you come back, then?”

“I got sick. Cancer. Couldn’t afford treatment there”. Gerrard shifted from one foot to another. Would this man spread the word of his returning? Would any avatar try to find him if they heard he was back? Most of the creatures that hated him did it because of Gertrude, so hopefully, they wouldn’t care too much. However, he could think of at least one who would probably track him down: Michael Crew. To be fair, he had never hurt him as badly as other avatars, but he hadn’t been too kind to him either. Besides, he was one of the most dangerous ones, if only because his obsession with Leitners could only mean he was planning something big.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear it. Are you better now?”

“Sort of”.

“So, is the hair a wig?” Gerard frowned at that, feeling the conversation too invasive now. Had he always been like that? Was he looking for contradictions in his story?

“Yes”.

“Oh”. He fumbled with the calculator for a few seconds. “It’s going to be 40.77 pounds” Gerry dropped the bills on the counter and waited for the man to count the money.

He gave him the change and the plastic bag with the clothes, leaning into him, a weird gleam in his eyes.

“You don’t need to lie to me, Gerard. I won’t tell anyone” Gerry’s heart skipped a beat. “Did you do it? I wouldn’t be surprised, everyone said she was a bitch”. Gerry dropped the bag and change to the floor, hands suddenly too shaky to hold anything. He kneeled trying to pick everything up as fast as he could. At least he seemed clueless regarding the whole supernatural part of the story.

Still, he couldn’t stop the memories of the day he found his mother covered in blood, skinning herself alive, grinning through the pain, flooding his mind. He could still feel her hand, sticky with blood, around his neck, as she tried to talk him into bounding himself to the book too. He fought for air.

“No, I didn’t” He failed to keep his voice even.

“Sure,” He said with the exact tone of someone who didn’t believe him. His eyes were cold as he watched him rose back to his feet. “I’m sorry for prying” He gave him an insincere smile “By the way, you can keep the leather jacket you tried on earlier. Consider it a welcome back gift”.

Normally, Gerard would have punched the guy for this. He would have made sure he never again dared to mention his mother to him and much less insinuate that he might have murdered her. But this time, he didn’t have the strength in him. Not anymore. He wasn’t sure if he had just gotten used to the malicious comments over his mother’s death or if it was that the last three years of being used as a fucking encyclopedia by the two hunters had shredded him from his pride to the point where he couldn’t react to new humiliations, but he didn’t have it in him to defend himself against that sad man.

“Thank you,” He said instead, leaving the shop and grabbing the jacket on his way out.

It was still early to return to Jon’s house, so he wandered the streets mindlessly, missing being able to listen to music while he walked. He was too lost in his own mind to realize where his steps had taken it until he was faced with a too familiar building. The bookstore had the windows shuttered with worn-out wooden planks but the house itself seemed oddly fine as if no one had dared to step inside since the incident. He looked intently at the door, sure he could open it, even without the keys. It wouldn’t be the strongest lock he had forced open.

He decided against it. He hadn’t been inside in a long time and he wasn’t sure he could deal right now with all the memories that inhabited those walls. Sure, some of them had been good, rare instances in which he had been happy despite everything. But it only made it worse. It had been those happy memories, those moments of his past in which he had felt loved and at peace, that had made it so hard for him to truly hate his mother. The bleak hope that he might be happy again had been what had kept him bound to her even after her death. After all, she was the only person who had ever loved him, even if it had been in her own, fucked-up way. He had needed to accept that love and happiness were second to survival and almost unreachable for him to be able to let go. Gertrude had helped him a lot with that.

Yeah, he was not ready to bring those memories back.

He turned around to leave when he found himself face to face with another man. He was half lying against a tree, obviously watching him. He had brown skin, curly black hair and deep blue eyes. He had an unmistakable aura about him too, the one that let Gerry know he was facing an avatar, although it was impossible to guess of what. It didn’t really matter, the man was big enough that even if he couldn’t kill him with his powers, whatever they might be, he would easily take him in a fight.

“Gerard Keay?” He asked. Fuck. How did he know his name? He was sure he had never seen him before, the man was handsome enough he would have remembered him. Did he serve the Eye, then? It was a possibility.

“I’m sorry, who?” Lying to an avatar of the Eye was normally a bad idea, but he decided to risk it. The man smiled.

“If you didn’t want to be so easy to spot you shouldn’t have marked yourself so visibly,” He said. “I know who you are, no need to play dumb”.

Fuck.

Gerard smiled then, as sweetly as he could and reached to tie his hair up in what he hoped would be a causal move.

“Okay, it’s me. What did you want?” He tried to appear as friendly as possible if a bit resigned. The man relaxed slightly, now that he got his apparent collaboration.

The second he lowered his guard, Gerard sprinted down the street. He knew the man was probably faster than him and he was carrying more stuff, but he hoped he could lose him in the crowd.

He rushed towards the closest tube station and hurried behind a man in a suit, not bothering paying. There was no time for that. He glanced towards the arrival time and ran downstairs, towards the departing train. The other man jumped in a swift motion over the access lathe and followed him down the stairs. Gerry rushed inside the train, praying softly that the doors would close before the other man made it inside, but he wasn’t lucky enough. He moved towards the end of the train, but it was useless, as his persecutor was only a few meters from him now. Gerard made a decision, jumping through the doors again as they closed, trapping the man inside.

They locked their eyes through the window as the train departed, Gerry managed to smile at him and wave while he caught his breath. He didn’t stop for much longer, as he knew the other man would soon return to catch him. Instead, he walked to the next platform and took the train that would take him the farthest away from there. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!  
> FIRST OF ALL, I'm so sorry y'all came for gerrymichael and we are already at chapter 6 and they haven't even met jsnsjnsjsn BUT they will meet in Chapter 8 I PROMISE (and I will try to update faster so you can get the meet-cute sooner)  
> As always, thanks for reading!   
> Comments and kudos are very much appreciated and you can always come and say hi to me on tumblr (augi-goes-writing)  
> Take care!


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